Once Upon a Dream
by AramauFierySecretary
Summary: Oin gets a special message from a friend in dire need of help.


_I know you_

 _I walked with you once upon a dream_

Oin's apparition was humming again, and he was getting mildly tired of having to listen to the tune. It was not a badly composed melody, but it was sappy and repetitious to the grumpy old dwarf. And this Reiyn was just as immune to Oin's glares as the real one had been. Finally, he placed down his book and trudged over to where the image of the boy stood, happily humming away. He crossed his arms, having half a mind to attempt to pull the illusion's ear, and cleared his throat.

"Child," he grumbled, "the music is distracting me. Stop."

"I can't," Reiyn replied sheepishly, "I've been asked to keep going."

"Until?"

"Until you get the message." Oin paused for a moment. Knowing Olidammara's persistence and flagrant disregard for rules of any sort, if he had wanted to deliver him a message, the god could probably have just popped in by now and given it to him, magical manor or not. But who else would want to give him a message?

"Whose message?"

Reiyn looked hesitant to say, but he relented and answered.

"Jeminya."

 _I know you_

 _The look in your eyes is so familiar_

 _A gleam_

Oin lay in bed, still silently pondering. Jeminya had sent him a message? A song? Of all things, down in the Nine Hells, the thoughts she most wanted delivered to him were those of a song? Wouldn't that be more suited to Ivan?

The last they had heard from Jeminya, she had been encased in ice, somewhere in the lower layers of Baator. But that was several days ago. The time before, she had been crying in agony and Fae had felt the pain she was enduring. So how in all the Outrealms could she even think of a song at that moment?

He grumbled to himself again. _The manor is playing a trick on me since Olidammara cannot,_ he hypothesized, punching the pillow beneath his head. He'd been grumpily trying to get to sleep ever since he spoke with Reiyn and slammed the door on his apparition's apologetic face, and he wasn't having much success. Something – _everything_ – about the message Reiyn had delivered bothered him.

How was he communicating with Jeminya? Did this mean she was alive or dead? Was this manor truly as safe as Faerthurin had promised them? Was this a trick by Olidammara or some other mischievous entity? Or was it some sort of scheme to throw him off kilter? Oin had no answers for these questions so finally he gave up and resigned himself to no sleep.

The humming started up again, but this time it was louder as Oin realized that his attendant had entered his room. A small light began to glow beside his bed, and Oin turned over to see what it was. Reiyn was standing over him with his right hand raised at shoulder height, and it emitted a soft white glow. The boy smiled down at him, and though Oin was suspicious, he was not afraid. Reiyn placed his hand against his forehead and Oin felt the stress and tension seep out of him.

"The message can only be received," Reiyn whispered as Oin's consciousness faded from him, "in a dream."

 _And I know it's true_

 _That visions are seldom what they seem_

Oin realized he was in a dream instantly as the ballroom of the Directian palace appeared before him. The grand hall had been repaired from the damage the demon invasion had caused, and the pillars and walls shone golden and white. Paintings of nobility spanning centuries lined the walls, though their faces were obscured, and candlelit chandeliers dangled elegantly from the tall peaked ceiling. The floor was smooth marble, and a long red carpet split the room in two. A sea of blurred faces and bodies dressed in all their elegance stared at him from either side of the room and there, at the end of the room sitting on her throne in her rightful place as Queen of Directian, was Jeminya Malum.

She looked far different than he had ever seen her and for some reason she was in her human disguise. He was used to gleaming pauldrons, sturdy gloves, and a sword at her side. Instead, she wore a large, regal crown with the crest of Directian on her brow and a voluminous golden ballgown studded with azure gems to match her eyes. The long fluffy sleeves hid the lean muscle he knew to be there, her hands were covered in golden-tinted see-through gloves, and her feet – daintily placed in golden slippers - were obscured by the dress. Attached to her back was a huge fan of peacock feathers in green and blue with golden eyes dotted on the ends, watching him.

"Oin!" she called, and the sea of faces began to murmur as she darted forward to him, seeming to forget any etiquette a queen should follow. He remained motionless, waiting for her to reach him, and surveyed the scene. Something was not right.

"Your Highness," he said formally to the golden figure in front of him, "it is good to see you."

"You as well!" she said through a smile he _knew_ to be diplomatically fake. She took his hand and, Oin immediately tried to take it away, but she leaned close to him and whispered urgently, "I don't care about your curse. Please. Just dance with me. I have to tell you something."

Despite Oin's better judgement, he followed her to the open dance floor, and the faceless crowd gathered around them in a perfect circle. By some dreamlike fantasy, they were the exact same height, so when the waltz began, they glided perfectly across the dance floor. Jeminya smiled to her guests while Oin just stared at her sternly and wondered what was going on.

Through her smile, she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, "This was the only way to reach you. I only have a little time until they wake me up. It's taken me ages to get to you."

Oin nodded, understanding minimally, and she continued, "Please, Oin. Hurry." His face softened infinitesimally as he heard her plead, "Take me home."

"We are coming for you," he responded as coldly as ever, but she seemed to take comfort from that if the sparkling joyful tears in her eyes were any indication. Her expression changed back to the false smile as she waved to the crowd and whispered fearfully, "They are watching. Always watching, even in my dreams. If anything out of the ordinary shows up, they'll wake me. And then it will be back to… back to…"

Both her words and her feet faltered, and he caught her before she fell. The entities surrounding them seemed to lunge at her, but Oin scowled harshly at them and they backed off a bit. He resumed dancing, this time leading her with a surety and a knowledge that he knew wasn't his own, and she smiled genuinely up at him.

"So, you used my own skill to find me," he said, "How?"

"My sister is not the only one with magic. She just has more," Jeminya replied quietly, "It's limited, and I've had very little strength without my symbol, but I had to reach you. I felt Faerthurin in my mind, and I had hoped for a moment that you all were coming for me, but…"

"Of course we are," Oin said with finality. Jeminya waited a moment to see if he would continue, but she was not surprised nor disappointed when he didn't.

 _But if I know you,_

 _I know what you'll do_

They danced in companionable silence for a moment before Jeminya's hand began to slip out of his. He tightened his grip, and Jeminya cast her eyes downward.

"It's fading, Oin. I'm running out of strength," she whispered as her body began to droop against him. He caught her once again and held her upright as he noticed the menacing ocean of guests closing in on them. He balled up one of his fists and readied a Harm spell, waiting for _any_ of them to try and wake her, but she put her hand on his arm.

"Don't. They think you're just part of my imagination. If you hurt them, they'll know you're real," she whispered as she began to cough. The ballroom began to dissolve as Jeminya coughed more, and she collapsed to her knees on the ground. Oin followed her down and noticed that his tunic had been stained purple. He looked at her mouth; purple blood trickled from the corners as her face brightened from pale to scarlet. Her horns grew and pushed her crown off her head, and blood began to trickle out of her blue eyes like tears.

"Oin," she rasped, and Oin picked her up in his arms. He was a healer, and he was needed by one of the people who trusted him most, but he couldn't cast a spell or fight. So he did what he could.

He ran.

He bolted out the doors of the ballroom and down the stairs of the palace, carrying the bleeding tiefling in his arms. She was too weak to hold her head up on her own so she laid against Oin's shoulder, her blood soaking the tunic further. Oin could hear the howls of the spirits following behind him so he quickened his pace. Down the stairs, into the courtyard, through the gardens, into the streets of Directian he ran without pause and without running out of breath. He was the master of dreams, after all, and no one could beat him at his own game.

Or so he thought.

The sky above them turned as red as Jeminya's skin and a loud crack broke the clouds apart. The hideously gleeful face of Asmodeus squeezed through the space and roared with a smile, "She's mine!"

Horrible winged devils like none Oin had encountered before flew from the King of Devils' mouth and descended upon the fleeing pair. Oin inhaled, about to speak his forbidden chaotic word, but he felt a gentle hand press against his mouth. He looked back down at Jeminya, whose cheeks more resembled purple rivers than fiery lava, and she offered him up a weak smile.

"Jeminya—"

"I'll be waiting, Oin. Please. Take me home."

With those words, the devils ripped Jeminya away from him and cast him high into the sky, straight towards Asmodeus. The Fallen Angel smiled, his fangs glistening, and Oin was encased in darkness.

 _You'll love me at once,_

 _The way you did once_

 _Upon a dream_

The dwarf woke with a start and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the soft light of the candle Reiyn had left for him. He sat up in his bed, rubbed his eyes, and looked around at the disarray of his room. In his sleep, he had thrown his blankets and pillows around and knocked the books off his table. Grumbling, he swung his legs over the side of his mattress and stood.

Reiyn must have heard him wake up because the moment his feet touched the floor, the apparition appeared in front of him.

"Would you like me to take your tunic, Oin?" Oin frowned; he rarely changed his tunic, and Reiyn had never offered before.

"Why?"

"It's covered in blood. I thought I could wash it for you."

Oin looked down in alarm. His eyes focused in the dim light and he saw that the shoulder that Jeminya had been laying her head on was completely covered in the purple ink-like substance as well as the little splatters on his torso from her coughing.

"Light, child," he commanded, and Reiyn waved his hand. The lamps came on in his room and Oin looked more closely. The blood was fresh. He closed his eyes, took off his tunic, changed into another one, and threw the garment at the apparition, who surprisingly caught it.

"You will not breathe a word of this to anyone, Reiyn," he ordered. Reiyn just smiled and shook his head, signaling that he would keep quiet, and disappeared from the room. Oin somberly began to clean up the mess his dream had caused and, once he was finished, collapsed back onto the bed. He felt his consciousness slip away again, this time out of exhaustion rather than a magical message, and he closed his eyes.

 _We will find you, Jeminya. Olidammara help us._


End file.
